


To Right a Wrong

by WichitaRed



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 10:51:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1425793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WichitaRed/pseuds/WichitaRed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jed Curry is given the glimmer of hope he needs to keep going.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Right a Wrong

Steadman’s Pass was a shadow on the landscape, its glory as a boomtown extenuated before it could even rise to glory. But, for a time, it did shine. Shine with the heat of a thousand fires. But, not so, for the Steadman’s Pass, Jed Curry rode into. 

Tying his horse to the hitching rail of the lone remaining saloon, the Double Down, he frowned, at the dusty streets of the dried up town. Removing his soft leather gloves, he used them to beat some of the road dirt from his clothing before tucking them into his belt. “I won’t be long, Mack.” He said, patting the big sorrel gelding on the shoulder. 

The warped timber of the boardwalk creaked painfully beneath his weight when he stepped on it but the temperature seemed to drop ten degrees under the shade of the awning. Stopping, he looked long at the still town. He counted ten paint-starved buildings, a water pump, an abandoned partially built train station, and two scrawny dogs nosing down the street. Frowning again, he pushed his way through the doors of the saloon, fully expecting the insides to match what he’d seen so far. He was not disappointed. Having stood in the dark shade covering the walk, his eyes were ready for the gloom, but he wasn’t prepared for the stench. His nose wrinkled, creasing up his blue eyes, ‘It smells like saddles stored away while still drenched with sweat.’ He brushed the back of his hand across his nostrils, ‘No, like an overcrowded bunkhouse during an August downpour.’ Shaking his head, he strode on in. The room contained what he figured to be most of the denizens of the town, and from the looks of them, they all held with a belief that bathing was unhealthy. 

The bar was a ramshackle affair, built on top of used dynamite crates and empty barrels, along its length stood three men who turned to stare just as skillfully as the four men at the poker table were currently doing. 

“What can I do for you sonny?” asked, a bewhiskered man from behind the bar. 

“A beer.” 

“Ain’t got none.”

Kid frowned, realizing this was the third time; he’d done so since arriving. 

“What do you have?”

“Local whiskey.”

His frown deepened into a twisted scowl as local whiskey meant backwoods brew that was known to make men blind, or worse, “I’ll take coffee.”

Now it was the bartender’s turn to frown but, in short order, he brought over a cup. 

Taking a drink, Jed choked before swallowing it down, ‘Stuffs bitter. Strong, just the way Heyes likes it,’ he thought and thinking of his cousin, Hannibal Heyes, made the frown reappear. It had been seven months since they had gone their separate ways. Jed felt positive it was the worse choice they had ever made. Taking another drink, he set the cup down feeling as hungry as a grizzly out of hibernation, “You sell any food?” 

“Got venison stew and fresh bread,” the man replied, flicking a towel up onto his shoulder, “for two-bits, you’ll get a bowl, couple slices and I’ll even throw in a dab of butter.”

“Sold,” Jed said, laying out the coins. 

Most of the men, by now, had returned to whatever had been their form of entertainment before Jed’s arrival, except one. He was shorter than Jed by several hands, had a dough belly, and a softer face, and even now was slowly creeping closer. 

Turning Jed dropped his hand to the .45 hanging on his hip. “What can I do you for?”

The man stopped so short, he about toppled over, his droopy, heavy lids blinking quickly in his childlike face. “That’s a peacemaker, Mister, ain’t it?”

“It is.”

“I want one, but, my Pa says I can’t.”

Kid nodded, not seeing a threat or, for that matter, much sign of intelligence, his dropped guard. “Suppose that’s his right.” And, saying this, moved on down to the end of the bar by the boarded over window. Taking a sip of the abysmal coffee, he resisted spitting it out and fell instead to eating the food slid in front of him. From the corner of his eye, he could see the man edging forward again, causing him to growl, “that’s ‘bout close enough,” around a bite of buttered bread.

The man giggled. 

Glancing around, Jed saw no one else was interested in him, not even the homely bartender. Feeling relieved, he returned to shoveling in the stew.

“My name is Donnie. My Pa let’s me hold his gun sometimes. It’s only an old Navy not a Peacemaker.” Donnie said, rubbing his hands together. “Could I hold yours?”

The spoon froze half-way to Jed’s mouth, which was still hanging open, as he considered the notion of letting a stranger handle his gun and barked, “No!”

Donnie’s head dropped, “I’d be careful. Pa taught me to be careful.”

Setting the spoon down, Jed tore off a hunk of bread and turned to face Donnie, “Hey bub, sorry, I don’t let anyone, but me hold my gun.”

“Oh,” Donnie said, looking about like he had forgotten where he was and then a frivolous smile erupted on his face, “my Pa, he says it ain’t polite not to share.”  
“Well, guns aren’t on the sharing list, last I heard.” Jed said, popping a piece of bread into his mouth. 

Donnie slapped his thigh, laughing overly-loudly, “That’s funny. Sharing list, that’s funny.”

“Suppose so,” Jed replied, taking a larger bite of bread, enjoying the soft sweetness of it, he closed his eyes savoring the buttery taste. 

“I got to hold a Schofield last week.”

Jed looked at Donnie with interest for the first time. 

“A Schofield?” 

“Uh huh, it were real nice.” Donnie beamed. “I wanted to shoot it but, Heyes, he said no.”

This time Jed snorted, spluttering coffee across the counter and wiping a hand across his mouth, he gulped out, “Did you say, Heyes?” Jed’s mind was racing, ‘Heyes? Could it really be him? Hell, how many men named Heyes were there carrying a lousy Schofield, to boot? One; only one.’ 

“Yeah, Heyes, he were real nice, too. He’s my friend.”

“Was he about my size with dark hair and eyes?”

Donnie nodded enthusiastically. 

“Is he here in town?”

Donnie’s smile all at once disappeared. 

“Take that as a no.” Kid said closing his eyes, only to open them again when Donnie began talking. 

“He left. He were riding a bay mare and he left. But, he bought me a bag of red licorice, the day he left.”

“When was that?”

“The day he left.”

“I know, but what day?” Jed asked his voice taking on harshness. 

“He’s my friend. Is you mad at him?”

“No.” Kid smiled, running his hands across his face, “I ain’t mad at him no longer, he’s my friend, too.” 

Donnie’s face pinched in concentration, “Heyes, he told me, a man couldn’t outlive the mistakes of his past, but he hoped to. Said, if’n he found Jed, he might be able to. I been thinking and thinking about that and I still don’t know what he meant. Do you?”

“I do.”

“Pa says, I’m too dumb to know to move out of the way of a stampede, must be why I couldn’t figure out what he meant.”

“Donnie that ain’t it at all; I understand because I’m Jed.”

“You are?!”

“I am.”

“I found Heyes’ Jed.”

“Suppose you did.”

“Pa ain’t never gonna believe me.”

Jed smiled, patting Donnie’s shoulder asked again, “So when did he leave?”

“I already done told you that.”

“But when?”

“On the day he bought me candy and rode his mare out of town.”

Looking to the ceiling, Jed strangled out, “When?” as calmly as he could. 

Stepping up, Donnie laid a hand soothingly on Jed’s shoulder, then with a sorrowful shake of his head asked, “You do know to move out of the way of a stampede, don’t you?”

“Of course, I do.” 

“I were beginning to wonder, ‘cause you keep asking when he left, and I keep telling you when he gave me the candy and rode out.”

Jed leaned against the bar, dropping his head down on his arms, feeling like pounding his head into the wooden surface. 

“Ah, Jed, I didn’t means to make you cry. Pa, he makes me cry sometimes but he always says he’s sorry. So, Jed, I’s sorry I made you cry.”

“I’m not crying,” came the muffled reply. 

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“It’s okay, if you is.”

“I’m not,” Jed thundered, rearing up straight. 

“Donnie you bothering this man?” The bartender asked refilling Jed’s cup, “What I done told you about pestering people?”

“I weren’t,” Donnie said, his lower lip trembling, “I was telling him ‘bout my friend, Heyes.”

“Oh,” the bartender replied, setting the pot down on the scarred bar top, “Well, maybe he might not want to hear about him.”

“You know who he’s talking about?” Jed asked. 

“Sure.”

Jed’s smile and eyes both doubled in size. 

“Donnie, here, is speaking of Hannibal Heyes. He rides with Big Jim Santana’s bunch.”

Jed leapt forward and had to restrain himself from latching hold of the bartender’s shirt, “Where do I find Big Jim?”

“You law?”

Jed thought that an odd question, but shook his head no in response. 

The bartender’s nose wrinkled up, “I don’t know, that Heyes, he’s a real likeable fella. How do I know you’re not a law dog?”

“I’m not.” Kid shook his head earnestly, “I’m his kin, and we kind of got separated.”

“You don’t look much like Heyes.” The bartender, rubbed a ham-hock hand across the back of his meaty neck, “No, don’t see much of his blood in you.”

“He takes after his Father’s side,” Jed said crossing his arms, “Why am I telling you all this? Can you help me or not?”

“I think we should help him Walt. He says he’s Jed.” 

“That so--?” Walt tipped his head to the side, “You’re the Jed, Heyes speaks of.” 

“He talked about me?”

“Sometimes,” Walt grinned, “when he got a bit deep in the bottle, he would.”

“Never could hold his mouth shut when he drank.”

“I believe, I’m gonna trust you, Jed, and I pray you are who you say.”

Laying the palms of his hands on the bar, Jed leaned in, “I am. I swear; I am.”

“Big Jim’s bunch rode out last Sunday, and they were headed north. Word is they have a canyon, or such, they hole up in somewhere up in Wyoming.” 

“Thank you, Walt.” Jed spun on Donnie and took his hand, “Thank you Donnie, thank you.”

Donnie beamed, his whole face effusing joy, “Can I hold your gun now, Jed?”

Steering Donnie toward the door, Jed wrapped an arm about his shoulders, “Donnie, I’d like to, but it might go poorly for me if the wrong persons showed up while you was holding my gun leaving me un-armed; could be a good way for me to wind up dead.” 

“Well, I don’t want that to happen, Heyes is looking for you.”

“Did he say that?” A grin overtook Jed’s features.

“He said, he needed you to keep him steady. But, I thought he walked just fine all by himself. I think he was confused.”

“Could be,” Jed said patting Donnie on the shoulder before unhitching Mack. “Could be, he gets a bit crazy by himself.” Swinging up into the saddle, Jed spun the gelding about. “Donnie, again, thanks so much. I’ve been trying to pick up his trail for what feels like forever.” Pointing Mack north, he laid his heels into his flanks, feeling for once like he might finally catch up with his cousin. He wasn’t sure how many more saloons, he’d have to check out, but, at least now, he knew Heyes was somewhere ahead of him, and that was closer than he’d been for the past seven months.


End file.
